


Wilting Roses

by Smooty



Series: Good Omens [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad coping mechanisms, Drinking, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smooty/pseuds/Smooty
Summary: No one, if asked to describe Anthony J Crowley, would use the word patient. Flash maybe, flamboyant for sure, possibly even mischievous. But not patient. Crowley was the type of person to honk his horn one second after the light turned green, the type to roll his eyes when the person in front of him at the coffee shop dared to order something more complicated than the bare basics. He was always moving, swaying, fidgeting with something or other and anyone who knew him knew that.





	Wilting Roses

No one, if asked to describe Anthony J Crowley, would use the word patient. Flash maybe, flamboyant for sure, possibly even mischievous. But not patient. Crowley was the type of person to honk his horn one second after the light turned green, the type to roll his eyes when the person in front of him at the coffee shop dared to order something more complicated than the bare basics. He was always moving, swaying, fidgeting with something or other and anyone who knew him knew that. 

Not that there were many people who really knew him. The other demons in Hell knew him in the vaguest sense, like co-workers who’ve worked in different departments for 6000 years. Oh sure some of them felt they knew him, had him figured out, but that was all based on what Crowley  _ wanted _ them to think. He submitted reports that were more lie than truth--which really, they should have expected as he was a demon--and carefully cultivated his persona as a confident, irreverent bastard and Hell fell for it. 

No the only person who knew him well enough to speak on his actual personality was the angel. Not at first, in the beginning, but after a few thousand years one could say Aziraphale knew the demon better than anyone else and even he would have described Crowley as impatient. He was always speeding around London, trying to get where they were going as fast as possible. He watched Crowley, time and time again, drink his tea or coffee before it was cooled enough, burning his tongue. More than once Aziraphale had had to ask him to “settle down, dear boy, you look like you’re going to crawl out of your skin!”.

So he probably would have called Crowley patient either. But that wasn’t entirely true. In fact, Crowley may have been the most patient creature on God’s green earth. Because for 6000 years he’d been waiting, and pulling back, and reigning himself in. It was only natural that after all that time, things would spill over eventually, wasn’t it? 

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale were, as was usual for any given night of the week, sharing a bottle of wine in the backroom of the bookshop. They’d had dinner, and spent most of the morning going through the new books Adam had added to the shelves. Crowley had found a kids corner--that certainly hadn’t been there before-- in the back west bit of the shop and had spent hours teasing Aziraphale over the cutsie tiny chairs and shelves. 

The wine was good and the company even better. Aziraphale wasn’t drunk yet, but Crowley was well on his way, his glass barely half empty before he was refilling it. There was a brittleness to the demon, a nervousness that was unwarranted based on the relaxed day they had had together that hadn’t been there when he was sober. It was only six months after The End that Wasn’t, so Aziraphale could understand some of the skittishness, but it was entirely out of character for the normally confident Crowley. 

Aziraphale loved Crowley’s confidence. He loved Crowley, period. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself until quite recently. After the bombing in WWII he’d felt love so strong for the demon that it hadn’t been possible to ignore it anymore. But, honestly, he’d probably loved Crowley since the beginning, when he’d spoken to him and joked with him in a way nobody ever had. Which made it all the worse that they could never be together.

Because just thinking about what Hell would do to the demon if they found out was enough to put him off eating for weeks.

So it was understandable that Crowley’s discomfort was upsetting to Aziraphale. “You seem unsettled,” he observed, watching as Crowley filled his glass once again. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Noooo,” Crowley said, his voice going high-pitched as he lied. “Nothing at all, angel!”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale cast a glance to the bottles on the table. “You’ve had quite a lot to drink.”

“S’not that much,” Crowley snarked, gesturing with the cup. Not a drop spilled, but Aziraphale knew that after a few more Crowley would forget to be so careful. 

“Those are three of my best bottles from 1920.” Crowley leaned in and actually looked at the bottle, raising an eyebrow and nodding. 

“You’ve got me there,” the demon admitted guiltily. “Ssstill doesn’t mean anythings wrong.”

The thing was, Aziraphale remembered a lot of other times that had been just like this. Times when Crowley would get skittish and cranky for no discernible reason. They were often followed by long periods of silence where he wouldn’t hear a peep from him. Sometimes for decades. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he could handle not seeing the demon for 20 years, not after what they’d been through. 

“Oh really, dear. I think I know you better than that!” Crowley laughed hoarsely and Aziraphale was reminded of Nanny Ashtoreth, with her sharp wit and dry humour. 

“Ssure you do, angel,” he rasped, voice rough with alcohol and something else Aziraphale couldn’t pin down. “Cause you’re sso clever. Nothing gets passt you, does it?”

Aziraphale might not be the quickest when it came to sarcasm, but Crowley was exceptionally drunk and very obvious. “I feel like you don’t really mean that, dear. Is there something I’ve missed?”

Crowley lept up unsteadily to pace the backroom floor. He only stopped when he nearly toppled one of the angels’ “to read” piles. “You can’t not know. Everything I’ve done… ssso many yearsss--”

Of course Aziraphale knew, wanted, and dreamed, but he never allowed himself to hope. “Whatever it is, I apologize for it, Crowley. You must know I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

But that just made Crowley more agitated. “Oh of coursess. Because the angel would never,  _ could never, _ do anything not angelic!”

“You aren’t making any sense!” Aziraphale shouted, getting frustrated. “If you would just tell me--!”

“You sshould already know!”

Silence followed the ringing intensity of Crowley’s voice, only broken by the demon’s heavy breathing. Aziraphale gaped at the other; Crowley had never, not once in 6000 years, raised his voice  _ at _ him. The demon was more the kind to get quiet when he was angry, to hiss and snap instead of yelling. Though apparently, Aziraphale had been wrong, and when pressed, Crowley could explode just like anyone else. 

“You alwayss pull away and I--I accepted that ‘caussse I know I’m too--I’m too much,” Crowley hissed, his hands coming up and gripping at his own hair. “I thought I could--thingss could stay the sssssame but--”

It was all Aziraphale needed to hear, for him to finally admit he was being a coward and ignoring the obvious. Yes, he had hurt Crowley again and again and he knew it, had been lying to himself. Because an angel couldn’t possibly cause that much pain to a creature of God, even if he was a demon. That didn’t seem to matter because Aziraphale had been so busy denying his feelings and trying to be the perfect angel, that he’d been hurting Crowley for nearly 6000 years. 

“I can’t--I tried and it’ss been ssssix months--but I  _ can’t _ angel,” Croley sobbed into his own knees. Not 10 minutes ago they’d been chatting about visiting Adam, and the Them in Tadfield next month. Crowley had seemed tense but Aziraphale would have never guessed this deep of a hurt was hidden within his friend. Now he knew. 

“I’m g-going. I wanted to tell you--if you need me. You can call and I’ll come but I’m going, Aziraphale.”

The angel’s breath caught in his chest. Where would Crowley go? America, or somewhere farther? The thought of Crowley floating through Alpha Century alone and lost was piercing. 

“Crowley,” he started, his voice shaking, “ Oh Crowley I’ve been so cruel to you.” He stood and walked the few meters over to stand in front of the demon. He was still wearing his glasses, though he’d shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down. Aziraphale was, as usual, still properly dressed, though his tie was loose. Now, he fiddled with that hanging fabric as he tried to compose himself. 

Crowley, in the meantime, was already refuting the angel’s statement. “No, no it’sss nothing I don’t deserve. I jussst can’t…” Crowley shied away, physically leaning backward to create distance while his drunken legs stayed put. 

“No, no. Dearest Crowley, will you please sober up so I know you will remember this?” Crowley shuddered and some of the bottles refilled, though not fully. Aziraphale knew Crowley was probably still intoxicated, but not to the point of blacking out. It would have to do. 

“Don’t make this harder, angel,” Crowley rasped, clutching at his shirt just above his heart. “Let me go, please.”

And if Aziraphale was less greedy, he might have. But he always had been a bit of a bastard who couldn’t let go of the things that were his. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so blind, so selfish. If you never forgive me I’ll understand but I want you to know that you are the  _ most important _ thing in my life and that I will do everything in my power to make the last 6000 years up to you.”

He wasn’t sure how he expected Crowley to react, but complete silence was definitely not one of the options he’d imagined. A sharp come back, or tears even; Crowley was always prone to emotional reactions. But this quiet Crowley was new and very, very still. So Aziraphale decided it was his turn to take the first step. 

Slowly, so the demon could see his every move and pull away if needed, the angel reached out. As carefully as he could he used soft fingers to unclench Crowley’s own from his shirt and hold them Aziraphale’s chest. With strength far beyond what his corporation would have had if he was human, he hauled Crowley up into a standing position. Crowley watched each movement with wide yellow eyes hidden behind tinted glass. 

“I remember how, in the Garden, you spoke to me with such kindness, unlike anyone else ever had. And then, in Paris, and the Blitz, you saved me and I trampled on your feelings like… like they were nothing. You asked for the Holy water and I  _ left  _ you without even asking why you really wanted it, then when I did give it to you  _ I _ accused  _ you  _ of moving too fast. Crowley, I’ve been stringing you along for millennia, abusing your kindness and  _ taking. _ ”

They were closer now, though Crowley was still looking away. Aziraphale used one hand to gently guide the demon’s chin to face him. Their eyes met and Aziraphale wasn’t surprised to see a distinct wetness in Crowley’s. “I’d like to give you something this time. I don’t know if it will make up for so many years but--”

“Stop talking and kiss me, angel,” Crowley snapped, though his tone was breathy. Though his nerves were frayed, Aziraphale couldn’t stand to make the other wait any longer, so he closed the gap between them, slanting his own lips over Crowley’s and swallowing the whimper that escaped the demon. 

Incredibly soft, and a little cool, and--Azirphale’s mind was spinning as he tried to catalogue every minute detail about the scene. Crowley pulled his hands from the angel’s grasp and Aziraphale was about to pull away when they returned to clutch at his back. The demon continued to make small, wounded noises as Aziraphale sucked on his bottom lip. Crowley tasted like wine and something smokey. It was lovely and the angel couldn’t help himself. He just had to dip his tongue inside to get a better taste. 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley moaned, his knees going weak which forced him to hold onto the angel for dear life. “Ngh.”

“Oh, terribly sorry dearest. Let's just move you to the settee, there you go,” Aziraphale fussed, practically dragging Crowley onto the furniture. Not that the demon was resisting, he was as boneless as his snake form suggested. He let himself be draped over one side of the settee, then arranged into position as Aziraphale got comfortable. The angel was seated as closely as possible, an arm draped over the demon’s knees with the other playing in his auburn hair. 

“Is that better?” he asked lowly, his lips close the Crowley’s ear. The demon shivered, goosebumps breaking out over his skin at their closeness. Aziraphale admired the reaction with a fond smile. “Lovely.”

Crowley flipped so his head fell under the angel’s chin, his legs interlocking with the others. “Is this a dream?”

A soft, slightly sad chuckle. “No dear, it isn’t. I’m very much here with you, and I’m not leaving.”

“S’a really real dream,” Crowley mumbled, drifting off. Aziraphale would argue with him about the realness of reality when he woke up. He may be more willing to hear the angel out after getting a good rest. 

* * *

If Aziraphale had expected it to be easy to undo 6000 years of rejection and distance, he had been extremely niave. Crowley still had a tendency to distance himself, like a defence mechanism against a thousand past hurts. Aziraphale went out of his way to show his love explicitly, to care for and pamper him at every opportunity. But it didn’t seem to be enough. 

Within just a few days of their mutual sharing of feelings, Crowley began to close himself off again, to hide behind snark and self-deprecating humour. He still let Aziraphale hold him, spoil him with praise and presents. But he never reached back, didn’t ask for or give affection unless Aziraphale moved first. Like he was still scared he’d be rejected. Which, considering the way Aziraphale had treated him in the past, was an extremely concern valid.

At first, the angel had thought Crowley wanted space. But then he’d noticed how content the demon seemed when Aziraphale put an arm around him on the street or tucked a strand of hair behind his ear when they were reading together. He definitely  _ wanted _ the attention, but he seemed unable to reciprocate, even if sometimes the angel caught Crowley with a look like he wanted to so badly. 

But how to bring it up? Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to just spring it on the other, but it wasn’t like Crowley was going to say anything. He was stuck. So as usual, when he had a problem he couldn’t solve, he turned to reading, fretting, and snacking. Which worked for a little bit before he remembered the way Crowley always kept at least a foot of space between them unless Aziraphale closed the gap. Then he was back at square one. 

That pattern could have gone on for quite some time, had Crowley not begun to put even more distance between them. That one-foot gap became two, then three, and then it was almost like that night a week ago hadn’t happened. Crowley kept his distance much more firmly than in the beginning, to the point where Aziraphale could barely get close enough to hold hands without a mad dash. And when he did get the chance to hold the demon, he always made this tiny sound, a sad sigh that sounded like relief. That was when the angel knew he had to say something. 

The time came one night while they were, for once, at Crowley’s flat having a glass of wine. Aziraphale had stopped by unannounced, though he knew that didn’t matter. Crowley invited him in with only token protests again as usual and Aziraphale had procured them a bottle of Bordeaux and two glasses. 

“So to what do I owe the pleasure, Angel?” he’d asked, draping himself over one of the austere chairs in his equally austere livingroom. Tension rippled through every part of his being, his aura a spikey, sickly grey. Aziraphale noted the lack of a sofa or any seating that would allow them to be close with a soft sigh. 

“Just thought I’d pop in. I found this lovely vintage on one of the back shelves of my cellar and I knew you’d appreciate it.” Deciding to get to the bottom of this once and for all, Aziraphale walked around behind Crowley’s chair and leaned in close. “Do you remember that year, darling?”

Crowley squinted at the bottle, his shoulders mildly tensed from their suddenly close proximity. “1959, you spoil me, angel.”

“You deserve only the best, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, letting the bottle fall carefully into the demon’s lap. 

“Hm?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale leaned down, nuzzling against firey hair. As usual, Crowley didn’t shy away from the touch, but there was that little sigh like he’d been waiting. Aziraphale tightened his hold around the demon’s shoulders guiltily. He really should be taking better care of him.

“I’ve missed you, dearest,” Aziraphale hummed, stretching over to kiss Crowley’s forehead. Crowley frowned in confusion and twisted around to look the angel in the eye. 

“You saw me yesterday, not even 24 hours ago,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. A few more soft kisses and Aziraphale pulled back, setting the bottle of wine on a side table. He knew he was making Crowley uncomfortable; the demon never did like not knowing what was about to happen. Better to get things done quickly, and avoid any undue stress. 

“I did, but I always miss you when you’re away from me. Besides, you know that isn’t what I meant.” Crowley’s face furrowed in confusion, so maybe he didn’t. “You’ve been--Am I overwhelming you, Crowley? It’s just you’ve been distant…”

“No!” Crowley interjected, immediately twisting around to fully face Aziraphale. “No, no, angel it’s not that, I swear.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved sigh of his own. “Oh good, I was quite worried.” He rewarded Crowley’s honesty with a soft kiss on the lips. “Will you tell me what the problem really is? I hate that you--I want you to be comfortable with me.”

Crowley tried to lean into the kiss, encouraging it to turn into something needier. But Aziraphale held firm, pulling back and waiting for Crowley to answer. It was harder than expected--once he started kissing Crowley it was nearly impossible to stop--but he managed for the greater good of their relationship. 

Initially, Crowley mumbled his answer so badly Aziraphale couldn’t understand a word of it. With a raised eyebrow and a gentle squeeze around the shoulders, he encouraged the demon to try again. “I didn’t--I don’t want to move to fast for you. I know I’m a lot and that you don’t really... Well, I know you don’t want me all over you all the time so I thought it’d be better like this.”

Aziraphale was shocked; where had Crowley gotten that idea?  _ You go too fast for me _ . Oh well, maybe this  _ was _ the angel’s fault, even if he’d never meant for it to happen. 

“Love, that was over 40 years ago. And I should have never--well the blame is entirely on me for this it would seem.” With cautious movements, Aziraphale walked around to stand in front of the chair, facing Crowley head-on. “I should apologize for not making my intentions clear, for not just  _ bloody talking about it!. _ ” 

Crowley continued to stare at the floor as Aziraphale continued. “You  _ do not _ go too fast for me Crowley. Well, you do when you’re driving but not in that other way.” Bending down to rest his palms on Crowley’s knees, Aziraphale made sure to catch his gaze. “I was scared of what Heaven and Hell might do, but not anymore. We don’t have to be afraid anymore, dearest.”

But Crowley was shaking his head, his golden eyes darting away and around the room. “I don’t know how! So many years, sso many times you said--Not that I blame you--”

“Love, you’ve been so patient,” Aziraphale praised, his smile cutting off the other’s tirade. He took one of his hands and used it to cup Crowley’s cheek, cradling it reverently. “You deserve to get what you’ve been wanting all these years. I want to give that to you.”

Cautiously, his eyes still averted, Crowley reached out and placed his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, mirroring the angel’s position. It was the first time the demon had touched him since that initial night. “This’s stupid, I’m sstupid!” Aziraphale noticed his lover’s eyes were damp, and his lip caught between sharp teeth. Obviously, Crowley’s distress was more intense than he’s realized. 

“You’re lovely, and so, so good,” he whispered, nuzzling against the hand on his cheek. “I want to spend every day for all eternity holding you and having you hold me.”

Crowley’s hand was trembling, but he didn’t remove it. He actually seemed to lean closer towards Aziraphale’s warmth. “M’still…” The angel let him struggle for a second before making a suggestion. 

“Worried, relieved, scared?” he offered, unsurprised by Crowley’s shocked glance. “Me too love. I’m absolutely petrified.”

That got Crowley to laugh a little as he finally-- _ finalyl! _ \--brought his other hand up to pull the angel into a sweet embrace. Aziraphale couldn’t have felt more proud of his brave demon. Crowley always had been one to take risks, which just showed how much he cared for his relationship with Aziraphale. He’s been so cautious, so gentle, so patient for 6000 long years. 

“Just in case I haven’t been clear enough,” Aziraphale muttered into Crowley’s hair, “you can touch me whenever you like and I will  _ always  _ enjoy it darling.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, burrowing his face into the lapels of the angel’s coat so the angel couldn’t see his blush. “Don’t jusst say that!”

Aziraphale laughed, high and bright and he switched to holding his demon around the waist. He could feel the despair and isolation bleeding from Crowley’s aura, replaced with contentment and peace. Not to mention the elation the angel felt at having Crowley reciprocate his affections. The plants in the next room over began to bloom and grow at a rate never before seen on earth. 

“You know I can’t lie to you Crowley.” That just made the demon squirm more. Impulsively, Aziraphale stood up and put his knees beside Crowley’s, sitting in his lover’s lap. Crowley grunted in surprise but kept his hold on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “I’m not too heavy, am I?”

“You’re perfect, Aziraphale,” Crowley answered, his voice muffled by layers of clothing. Aziraphale settled in more, getting comfortable for what he hoped would turn into a nice, long cuddle. The red wine he’d brought over could sit out for a while without any harm. And Crowley seemed to agree because he sighed, this time with happiness. It would be nice, for once in 6000 years, to have nothing to do other than enjoy each other's company. 

And when they did go to visit Tadfield, if, in the middle of a tea party consisting of a variety of beings and types of people, Crowley took Azirapahle’s hand in his as easy as breathing? Well, Aziraphale could blame his misty-eyed smile on the absolutely delicious biscuits and jam.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at https://our-smooty.tumblr.com/


End file.
